[Welcome to the Infinite Nightmare Game.]
[Loading Instance... "The Sanguine Motel".]
[Difficulty: D (Newbie Class).]
[Main Mission: Survive for 24 hours while being hunted by the serial killer "Leatherface Bubba".]
The cold, mechanical voice exploded in her mind. Vera opened her eyes to find herself lying on a single bed reeking of mold and rust. The ceiling fan wobbled precariously, emitting a creak, creak sound like a death knell. She sat up and rubbed her temples. "Heh, System." Vera sneered. There was no trace of a rookie's fear in her eyes; instead, she looked like she was judging an incompetent contractor. "Trying to wipe my memory via 'formatting,' turn me into a normal player, and kill me in an instance? Nice try. Too bad I wrote your firewall code three years ago."
Her name was Vera. She was once the Chief Architect of the "Infinite Nightmare" God System. Because she embedded too much "Pay-to-Win" and "Monetization" logic into the code, causing the game balance to collapse (in reality, she was profiting more than the System), the System flagged her as a "Virus" and attempted to delete her. The result? Not only did she respawn with her memories intact, but she also kept the core code that made the System grind its virtual teeth— S-Rank Talent: [Absolute Valuation].
Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream came from outside the door. It was followed by heavy footsteps and the roar of a heavy engine idling. "Vrrrrrrr— Vrrr! The door to Room 203 next door was smashed open. The screaming stopped abruptly, replaced by the teeth-aching sound of flesh separating from bone.
""Ahhh! Help! Don't come over here!" The hallway dissolved into chaos. Newbies ran like headless chickens—screaming, running, crashing into walls. Vera, however, didn't move. She leisurely walked to the shabby counter, dug out a packet of instant coffee of questionable expiration date, and brewed a cup using the room's kettle. Steam rose from the cup. Holding the coffee, she sat elegantly on the single sofa facing the door and even crossed her legs.
Three, two, one. BOOM! The rotten wooden door shattered into splinters under a violent impact. Wood chips flew everywhere. A two-meter-tall giant wearing a crude mask made of human skin squeezed into the narrow Room 204. He reeked of thick blood. The iconic rusty chainsaw in his hand was still dripping gore, its engine roaring manically.
The serial killer, "Leatherface Bubba." The nightmare of the newbie instance. The psychological trauma of countless players. Bubba stared with cloudy eyes, stunned. In his career, prey only had two reactions: peeing their pants, or breaking their legs trying to jump out the window. But this woman, in her business suit and gold-rimmed glasses, was holding a coffee and looking at him calmly. Her gaze was like someone reviewing a spreadsheet that needed approval.
A surge of anger at being underestimated rose in his chest. Bubba roared, raising his chainsaw high, preparing to saw this woman who disrespected his professional ethics in half!
[Absolute Valuation: Activated.]
A layer of pale blue data streams instantly covered Vera's retina. The world was no longer physical; it was a mass of jumping price tags and depreciation data. "Chainsaw chain wear: 89%. Two jammed teeth. Engine RPM dropped by 15% due to carbon buildup." Vera pushed up her glasses. Her voice wasn't loud, but it had a strange penetrating power—the unquestionable calm of someone who had been in a high position for a long time.
"Also, your posture is wrong."
Bubba's swing froze in mid-air for a split second. Vera didn't look at the deadly weapon; instead, she stared at Bubba's broad but slightly hunched back. "Your L4 and L5 lumbar discs are severely herniated, compressing the nerves. The agony from tendonitis in your left shoulder forces you to overcompensate with your right arm. This causes your swing to drift 3 centimeters to the right."
She gently blew the steam off her coffee and looked the killer in the eye. "Just now in Room 203, you couldn't cut through that fat guy's femur on the first try. You had to double-tap, didn't you? Not only is it inefficient, but with every swing, your lower back is screaming."
Bubba froze completely.The roar of the chainsaw seemed to lower in embarrassment, turning into a majestic "putt-putt" sound. He... really did have back pain. It hurt like hell.
And this was an Infinite Loop instance. Fresh newbies were sent in 24/7 for him to kill. No holidays. No health insurance. No massages. Just endless overtime. The room fell into a deathly silence. Vera put down her coffee cup and pulled two items from her Starter Backpack. A bottle of beverage glowing with an eerie red light. And a densely printed A4 sheet of paper.
"This is the 'Adrenaline Red Bull Special Edition'." Vera pointed to the bottle, sounding like a bank manager selling a premium investment product."I mixed it using the recovery potions from the starter pack. It can't cure your back injury, but it blocks 80% of your pain receptors for 4 hours. Drink it, and your back will feel brand new." Bubba's Adam's apple bobbed. That red liquid held a fatal temptation for him.
"And this..." Vera stood up. She didn't retreat; she advanced. Under Bubba's shocked gaze, she walked right up to the bloody chainsaw, extended her slender fingers, and disgustedly flicked a piece of minced meat off the teeth. "Is a Labor Dispatch Contract."
Vera slapped the paper onto Bubba's greasy apron, the corner of her mouth curling into a professional fake smile. "Just now, I purchased 5% equity in this dungeon instance. Right now, I don't see you as a monster. I see you as 'Human Resources'."
"Mr. Bubba, you are an excellent artisan. You shouldn't be holding garbage tools, working as a coolie in this broken motel. Sign this, and I'll fix your saw, take you to high-level dungeons, let you chop valuable monsters, and earn real points." "Most importantly..." Vera leaned in close to the grotesque skin mask and whispered seductively, "I offer full benefits, dental, and a chiropractic plan."